


Do not remember the sins of my youth

by scandalsavage



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Dry Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Non-Consensual Voyeurism, Painful Sex, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-02
Updated: 2021-01-02
Packaged: 2021-03-10 23:08:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,218
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28495122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scandalsavage/pseuds/scandalsavage
Summary: “I do know you,” Nemesis says, raising his hands up and starting to remove his helmet. “We are the same. Both chasing after a story that was always greater than the reality; teachers—mentors—who define us even as they fail us over and over again
Relationships: Alfred Pennyworth & Jason Todd, Jason Todd/Nemesis
Comments: 6
Kudos: 61
Collections: Batfam Kinkmas Exchange 2020, Jason Todd Rare Pair Challenge





	Do not remember the sins of my youth

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Romiress](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Romiress/gifts).



> When I was figuring out what to do for this fic, I absolutely included the honor bondage. Had it all down how to use it. But when I sat down and wrote it just went _poof!_ and I didn't remember until I saw it when I came to post. I'm so sorry. I hope this works for you anyway. I _did_ manage to squeeze in the smallest hint of BruSlade for you though.
> 
> Very spoilery warning at the end note.

Whoever the new threat in town is, they’re good. Very good.

They slip through the shadows nearly as well as a bat, their methods are efficient and professional, no wasted movement, no fanfare. Just quick and dirty.

Military precision above and beyond the standard hit man.

Jason thinks of Deathstroke first, but dismisses it immediately. Slade only takes jobs in Gotham when he’s sure Bruce is around to screw with.

Repressing a shudder at how literal _that’s_ become, Jason tries to keep his mind busy on the facts.

The new player is targeting Bruce Wayne and Batman. More specifically, anything with even tenuous links between the two.

The bastard hasn’t managed to kill anyone yet but it’s sheer luck and nothing more.

Leslie and Harper had a close call at the clinic. They only narrowly avoided death because they were both running late, and Jason had shown up unexpectedly to fight the guy off. Still they were both severely injured.

The new guy actually attacked Dick in Bludhaven before showing up in Gotham. It takes a lot to knock Dick out of action for two weeks and something even more worrying for him to call Jason in concern. Tim hasn’t lived at his family’s home in a couple years but no one really knows that outside the current family. Two nights ago the Drake’s home was burnt to the ground so thoroughly that even the bits that were stone crumbled. Tim still took it hard enough to find a crisis elsewhere to tackle with his team, taking Steph with him.

Jason doesn’t begrudge them their escape. But with Cas and Duke doing Outsider stuff in Europe, Dick healing up in another city, Damian with the Teen Titans, and Bruce off in space with the Justice League… well, it’s a bad time for Jason to be the only Bat in town. If it weren’t for Alfred, Jason would have probably been dead (again) on the third night (Jason takes consolation in the fact that Bruce would be dead without Alfred too).

He felt like he was holding things together by the tips of his fingers, trying to manage Gotham’s usual madness and New Guy.

Jason knows something is wrong the moment he arrives.

Except for all the bats, the cave is usually quiet, even when people are there working.

This quiet is different. Pregnant. Thick with expectation.

He just barely glimpses Alfred, expertly restrained and gagged, strapped to the big chair in front of the batcomputer, before there’s a small pinch on the column of his neck and the world goes black.

* * *

When he comes to, Jason finds himself similarly bound, only on his knees instead of on a chair, and surprisingly very thoroughly disarmed. Even the micro picks carefully hidden in the flesh of the inside of his cheek are gone.

No one ever finds those. No one ever even thinks about the possibility they might be there.

Whoever New Guy is… he _knows_ them.

Alfred sits directly across from Jason, eyes remaining wide even as his shoulders sag in relief at seeing Jason regain consciousness.

Then Alfred’s weary eyes dart over Jason’s shoulder.

The man who crosses into Jason’s peripheral is tall and lean, wearing black armor with red accents that _almost_ looks like it could be a new kind of Talon uniform. But there are even more obvious differences. This armor is more substantial, the design sensibilities less 19th century, Industrial Revolution Gotham and more… medieval Europe. The mask is obviously a knight’s helm.

“Good, you’ve regained consciousness,” the man says in a posh accent, not unlike Alfred’s, that confirms Jason’s suspicion New Guy isn’t from around here.

Subtly trying to find a weakness in his restraints, Jason tries to buy some time. “Whatever your beef with Bruce Wayne and Batman is, this is _really_ not the smartest move.”

They’re in the cave, Alfred is Bruce’s butler and one-time guardian. Jason is hardly making a leap or giving anything away. If this guy doesn’t know the big secret, Jason will eat his shoe.

Alfred makes an abrupt, pissed off noise. Like he’s trying to warn Jason about something. Fire rages in his warm brown eyes, indignant and furious. Jason has never seen Alfred look like that before.

New Guy cocks his head. “I don’t care about _him_ ,” the guy spits, like the very idea of Bruce entering his thoughts is offensive. Also confirms Jason’s suspicions that the guy knows Bruce is Batman. “But _you_ do.”

Ice runs through Jason’s veins. This is about _him?_ He knows he made some enemies during the time he spent training in Europe but… he also killed… all of them. This whole situation feels very unlikely.

Jason’s eyes wander to Alfred to find him still desperately trying to communicate something with his eyes.

“He’s made you weak,” New Guy says, dark knight’s helm looking directly at Alfred. “Coddled and pampered you. They all have. They’ve all tried to break you, make you fit their mold. You’ve withstood them for a long time but I can see your resolve cracking.” A black gloved hand comes up, knuckles dragging gently over Jason’s cheek in a caress way too tender and intimate to mean anything good. In the corner of Jason’s vision, Alfred’s struggles kick up a notch. “I had to step in before they ruined you irreparably. I had to save you.”

When the leather-clad thumb swipes slowly over the curve of his lower lip, Jason jerks away.

“What the fuck are you talking about. I don’t even know you. We’ve never met. And if you keep touching me like that, I’ll kill you. Just tell us what you want so we can get this bullshit over with.”

New Guy’s hand stops moving over Jason’s skin but stays cupped to his cheek.

“There. The real you peeking through the conditioning they have attempted to smother you with. My name is Nemesis, and we could be an unstoppable team, you and I.” The hand finally drops and Jason sucks in a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding. Nemesis looks back to Alfred and Jason has the distinct impression that they’re glaring at each other. Alfred certainly is. If looks could kill, Nemesis would be a pile of smoldering ash. “But your family... they’re holding you back. Leashing you. Taming you. They’re not allowing you to become the best you can be. You need to cut that cord. Starting here. With the weakest link.”

Jason refuses to dignify the implications of that statement with any kind of acknowledgement.

“If you think I’m going to go gallivanting off with you into the sunset to murder a bunch of innocent people—”

“Not innocents. Never innocents. All my targets have been evil.”

Jason swallows a lump. That’s an argument he knows well. Stands by it, even. But Nemesis has clearly lost the path.

“You attacked my family. They’re not evil. And the way you kill… it’s vicious. Cruel. Barbaric. It’s—”

“I heard the story of how you once delivered eight severed heads to the crime lords of Gotham as evidence of your resolve.”

Alfred—the real Alfred—is watching Jason closely, eyes narrowed, and fidgets on his knees staring at Jason. As if trying to _will_ Jason to understand the warning flowing off Alfred so thickly Jason can almost taste it in the air. And something else, a glint in Alfred’s eye that seems to scream at Jason _‘you aren’t alike. You’ve moved on. You’ve grown. Don’t let him make you doubt it.’_

Always trying to defend him. That’s why Alfred has always been Jason’s favorite.

“That was a long time ago. I was a different person then. I’m… I’m not that guy anymore.”

Pride flashes in Alfred’s eyes and Jason tries not to think of the warmth that blooms in his chest.

“You _are._ You certainly are. I’ve seen him surface when you’re deep in the moment, serene, almost meditative, finding purpose in the violence. Everything you have experienced, everything you have survived—and haven’t—all your training. You know what the others don’t. That to do the most good, one must accept the burden of evil.”

Glaring, Jason presses his lips into a thin line. “You don’t know anything about me, or what I’ve been through. Go peddle that bullshit somewhere else, we’re not buying it. Try the CIA.”

Nemesis glances between Jason and Alfred. “You _must_ remove that which makes you weak. If you cut out the weakness, only strength remains.”

“I’m not killing my family!” Jason all but shouts. If Nemesis has been watching him, he hasn’t been paying any attention. “That’s not strength. If you cut out your soul, all that’s left is a shell of a person, an unfeeling, uncaring monster. If you knew me the way you claim to, you’d know I’d never do anything like what you’re suggesting.”

The love and pride written across Alfred’s face drops into fear and concern when Nemesis looks back at him. He tries again, to slip the ropes binding him to the chair, muttering the same garbled plea over and over again that sounds vaguely like “don’t”.

“I do know you,” Nemesis says, raising his hands up and starting to remove his helmet. “We are the same. Both chasing after a story that was always greater than the reality; teachers—mentors—who define us even as they fail us over and over again—”

The helm clears the top of Nemesis’ head and Jason gawks. His eyes flick between Alfred and Nemesis as his brain tries to make sense of what he’s seeing.

Slim, narrow features, high cheekbones, pointed chin.

Warm, brown eyes. Similarly expressive, only different in what emotions they convey.

Guilt and shame in the face with lines of age.

Fury and righteousness (misplaced as it may be) in the same face without the sign of years.

Finally, Jason’s attention fixates on the younger of the two. He’s Jason’s age, maybe a few years older.

And unmistakably a much younger Alfred.

“What… what are—”

“What is he to you?” young-Alfred interrupts, nodding at old-Alfred without taking his eyes off Jason and gripping Jason’s chin. “Is he a confidant, friend, brother in arms? Is he a mentor? A father? A grandfather?”

All and more. Alfred is all of that and then some to Jason. But Jason’s only ever been able to sum Alfred up with one word. Family.

“Family, correct? That is how you referred to him earlier,” Young-Alfred leans in close and stage-whispers, loud enough for old-Alfred to hear. “How would it make you feel to know that it isn’t reciprocated? That he’s never thought of you as family?”

Alfred’s eyes bug out and the old butler starts struggling harder, shaking his head furiously, at the same time Jason’s mouth goes dry.

The fingers on his chin move higher to roughly fist in his hair. Jason’s head is jerked back so that he’s looking up at Alfred’s smooth, youthful face. Objectively good looking, but too immediately recognizable as “family” to be _attractive_.

“He wants you,” the bastard says. The words make Jason’s stomach churn. He knows it’s not true but the change in atmosphere the last couple minutes is giving Jason a very bad feeling about this. “You think I’m lying, but I’m not. I’m him. Not his son, not his evil twin. I’m a perfect reconstruction of every cell. We have the same taste in food and music, the same favorite color, the same love for theater. I know he wants you because I want you, because we have the same taste in women… and men.”

The briefest flash of doubt darts across Jason’s mind faster than a speedster, there and dismissed immediately. But he still hates himself for it.

“There’s no goddamn way I’d ever believe that,” Jason snarls. He tries the cuffs at his wrists again. If he can slip them, he’d be able to get the ropes off. But it seems Nemesis has found where Bruce keeps the good handcuffs because Jason has gotten nowhere this entire time.

He grunts when he’s dragged off his knees by his hair. Jason had felt the ropes binding his legs together but he hadn’t realized how tight and thorough they’d been secured until he starts to tip over.

Young-Alfred catches him and half carries, half drags Jason over to where Alfred, the real Alfred, is tied to Bruce’s chair, all color drained from his face.

“Let’s see if you are so confident when you can feel the evidence pressing up against you,” Nemesis—Jason can’t call him Alfred, won’t give the bastard the satisfaction—shoves Jason over the arm of the chair, pushing his torso into Alfred’s lap.

For the first time tonight, real fear settles uncomfortably, tightening in his chest, making it hard to breathe.

The _schlick_ of a blade slicing through fabric and the sudden cold air on the skin of Jason’s backside has heat blooming furiously on his cheeks. Indignation at the violation and embarrassment that his naked ass is right in Alfred’s face.

Dread at the thought of what Alfred is about to witness.

“Once you know the truth, once your most steadfast ally proves this most intimate betrayal of the bond you thought you had, then you’ll be free. Free from the dead weight holding you back.”

There is no lubricant. No preparation. No soft touches to relax into, no sweet words to set the mood.

Alfred starts trying to shout from behind his gag while warm drops fall on the cheek Jason doesn’t have pressed into Alfred’s thigh. The older man’s tears mingle with Jason’s own as thumbs tug at the furled ring of his rim. Jason tries to hide his face by wriggling closer, nuzzling his face between the warm safety of Alfred’s hip and the comforting leather of Bruce’s chair.

Nemesis allows it for now. When he shoves in without warning, Jason’s scream is muffled in the bony hip he was glued to as a fresh off the street orphan looking for a family.

He tries not to think about the shape of Alfred’s cock brutally carving him open. The moderate thickness, the long length. Slim but deadly, suiting Alfred too perfectly to not openly sob at the horror that this is knowledge Jason will have forever.

It will haunt his dreams, he knows it. Another nightmare—the _worst_ nightmare—to top off the already massive pile of things that wake him in the middle of the night with a cold sweat and ragged breath.

He tries to think of all the ways he’s going to take his revenge out of Nemesis’ flesh. All the things he’ll do to the fucker to make him feel even a small fraction of the pain he’s causing now.

Not even physical pain. Although each dry drag out and vicious thrust in tears something inside of him, Jason can’t stop the image of Alfred’s face in his mind’s eye, can’t stop the burn of humiliation that accompanies the burn cutting through the core of him. That Alfred, his Alfred, the _real_ Alfred, can see it all.

More warm, wet drops fall and slide down the flushed skin of Jason’s back, the swell of his ass. He knows Alfred is crying with him. For him.

 _Christ_ , how he wishes he could hear Alfred’s voice. Jason wants to be strong, for himself and for Alfred. But the small boy who could always count on Alfred to make everything better, wants so desperately to take comfort in the dulcet cadence of his grandfather’s reassurances. He knows Alfred would be apologizing, trying to soothe some of the fear and pain.

When Alfred’s voice finally does cut through the maelstrom of agony and self-loathing, Jason wishes he’ll never have to hear it again. And he _hates_ this imposter for stealing something so sacred from him.

“Do you see now?” Nemesis asks like he’s won something, savage pace never slowing as he rips his way through Jason’s body over and over again with each powerful drive of his hips. “You can feel his arousal over your heart, can’t you?”

Mercifully, Jason cannot. There’s nothing. Alfred isn’t aroused and, even though Jason resents that thoughts of Alfred and sex are being forcibly shoved into his brain, he is immensely grateful that Nemesis is wrong.

Jason doesn’t know how he could have lived in a world where Alfred got hard to watching his younger self fuck Jason so hard blood dripped down the inside of his thighs.

Because that warmth crawling down his skin is definitely blood.

He doesn’t have the wherewithal to respond. He just lies there, struggle to free his wrists forgotten in the depravity of the moment, and weeps into the large wet spot he’s already made of the pocket in Alfred’s trousers.

Nemesis doesn’t seem to need an answer. He just keeps talking. “Go on. Call out for him. Call out for your mentor. Beg your grandfather for help. No one will come. Because in the end, everyone fails you. They’re unreliable. They just weigh you down.”

Suddenly, the pace turns erratic. Nemesis’ hips stutter and the next handful of thrusts drill through Jason like a semi with its breaks cut plowing through a traffic jam; harsh and violent and destructive.

When the warmth of come spills into him, Jason has just a heartbeat to be grateful that it’s finally over before he’s biting the fabric of Alfred’s slacks in an attempt to muffle his scream.

Nemesis’ release fills Jason. Every tear and laceration fucked into him with dry, inexorable brutality, burns like liquid fire where the come floods over the open wounds.

He doesn’t even want to know how long it will take to heal from this. What the treatment will be.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the familiar, bestial roar of a heavily customized engine cuts through the near silence of the cave. It drowns out the heavy panting hovering too close to Jason’s ear, the hitched sobs of himself and Alfred.

It drowns out the horror in Jason’s head with the bright, loud sound of hope.

Bruce is back.

“Until next time,” Nemesis whispers.

A nip to Jason’s ear and he disappears.

With the last ounce of his strength, Jason shoves himself out of Alfred’s lap. Bruce can’t find him like that. That… exposed.

Boneless, he crumbles to the floor.

The adrenaline high from the fear and rage crashes down around him and Jason welcomes the darkness with open arms.

He knows it’s cowardly, leaving Alfred to explain what happened to Bruce. But Jason just can’t handle that right now.

As he slips into blissful unconsciousness, Jason is vaguely aware of Alfred’s frantic, indecipherable shouts abruptly turning into terrified words thick with tears.

“Master Jason!” Long fingers gently cup his face. “My dear boy, I am so very sorry.”

“What happened?” Bruce’s voice is ice and fire simultaneously. Jason can practically hear his mind whirring, putting things together. He _must_ already know the most obvious.

“It was… it was Nemesis,” Alfred says and he sounds as wrecked as Jason feels.

Jason hears Bruce gowl something unintelligible and leans into Alfred’s touch, clinging to the final thought that it wasn’t _his_ Alfred. That Nemesis won’t win.

He won’t cut out his soul. But he’ll certainly cut out that bastard’s heart.

**Author's Note:**

> Nemesis is Alfred's evil clone from All Star Batman (issues 10-14, vol. 3 The First Ally in trade. But I do recommend the whole series) and Jason very much considers Alfred family.


End file.
